Here's a poem (pseudo sonnet) I wrote back in 1997. That was on a long-time-ago computer (my Mac Classic), and it has taken me this long to start re-typing some of that missing work. Glad I had it printed out. Note blogger ruins my line breaks, so I had to use the "&" sign. I don't do that in the real version. How utterly tacky. Other than that, I am only changing a few words and commas from the original because I have to. Revision obsession.
Our Attic Apartment
Because the sides of this house are inclined,
stucco and angled to gables, we find
an acute lack of space. We tend to place
beds, records, books & harsh looks at close range,
in cornices that furnish short order.
We push our pans into shallow cupboards;
our bathroom towels hang low, while we walk
tenuously with our heads down. The stark
lack of mirrors and pictures cleans the site
itself: the parlor, free of all but white,
sloping walls that keep quickened steps deterred;
the master bedroom that would echo were
this an upright room, the close ceiling.
The silence. The alabaster feeling.
Second Draft 12/29/97